


Hannibal Ficlets

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, AU, Aftershave, Age Play, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Biting, Blood, Bows & Arrows, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-atypical violence, Catharsis, Child Abuse, Collars, Comics, Consensual, Crack, Cuddling, Dogs, Dominant!Beverly, F/M, Father Son Bonding, Fishing, Furry, Gen, Gore, Hannibal is good with children, Hannibal's Freaky Sense of Smell, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Italy, Jack Crawford's bitch please face, M/M, Margot and Will's Kid, Masochism Tango, Medication, Mommy Issues, Mommy!Bedelia, Mpreg, Murder Family, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Pegging, Protective!Will, Puppy Play, Recovery, Rough Sex, Scratching, Separation Anxiety, Shaving, Slap Slap Kiss, Tragic Romance, bed wetting, bottle feeding, crazy ninja, li'l!Hannibal, mongoose - Freeform, passive aggression, sippy cups, snake - Freeform, swiggity swaki it's lady Murasaki, time outs, very loving positive biting and scratching
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 12,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a place to post the short fic I write for Hannibal. Hannigram-heavy, because yum. I'll add tags as they come up. Shoot me a prompt if you like, I might write it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Second-Worst Boyfriend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will comes home in a weird mood and feels like talking. Hannibal deals with his customary aplomb. Contains consensual rough sex and mention of past terrible boyfriends.

“There was a guy, in college. He made me suck him in the library bathroom. He stole my roommate’s stereo. And he broke up with me after my dad died, because he said I was too much of a downer.”

Will had come in from the cold, wearing layers of buttons and warm wool. Wearing his blank, going-out expression. Hannibal set to divest him.

A button came loose. Another. His coat was open. “What was his name?”

“I’m not telling you his name.”

There was a fleeting smile at that. Hannibal relished the slow process. “Mm?”

“I don’t want him dead. This isn’t about that.” Will shook his head, pushing at Hannibal as Hannibal pushed off his coat and got started on his shirt, nuzzling at his neck.

He kissed him there, the base of his jaw, right over his pulse point. Will gasped. Even his stony-faced fledgling killer was still the sensitive creature that had first captivated him. He mustn’t let him forget that. “And what is it about, darling Will?”

“I don’t think... I don’t think he was my worst boyfriend anymore.”

Hannibal chuckled, dark and genuine. “And why did you stay with this second-worst boyfriend?”

Down to his undershirt now, and his jeans, his body showing through the thin cotton, Hannibal tugging gently at his belt. “This may come as a shock to you, but I used to have terrible self esteem.” Hands in his hair then. Gentle affection you might show a child. Will still leaned into it. “He wanted me around.”

Hannibal took the bottom of his jaw in his teeth. Barest pressure; he knew how not to break the skin. “Anyone would want you around.” He held Will in place for the praise, and after the first uncomfortable duck of his head, he remained. “You must set your sights higher. What do you want?”

Will met his eyes then. They were hungry.

“I want a fight.” He swallowed when he said it. His neck tightened, and his hands clenched with need.

 _That’s what the restraint was,_ Hannibal thought. _That’s what made him so very tense._

_Pretty baby_

And he growled as he threw him to the ground, gamely taking a punch as he tore Will’s flimsy shirt from his frame. Their hearts were beating loud enough to hear, adrenaline coursing through them, Will’s cock hard as they rolled together, grappling like animals.

“I could– _agh!–_ never deny you.”


	2. Fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a few years in the future. Will has visitation rights to Margot Verger's strategy!baby. Hannibal inserts himself as usual.

It was well before dawn when Billy Verger stepped outside the front door, locking it carefully behind him. He sat by the driveway and checked his overnight bag while he waited. Sunscreen, Mom had insisted on that. A change of clothes. A book. And his shades. He wished he could put them on. Dad didn’t make a lot of unwanted eye contact, but he’d gotten used to them, and they made him feel comfortable. But it was pitch black outside as it was. Putting on the sunglasses would blind him.

It wasn’t long before his dad’s car pulled into the driveway. Billy went for the passenger door, but there was another man sitting there. He went for the back instead, puzzled. Dad hadn’t mentioned another person coming fishing with them.

“Hey, buddy.” Dad checked him over in the rearview mirror before turning around and heading for the deserted interstate. “Have a good week?”

“Uh huh.” He hadn’t, especially, but it was the right thing to say. He looked intently in the rearview mirror himself until he made out a familiar sleeping face, a familiar lock of rigid blond hair. He relaxed now that he knew it wasn’t a stranger. “Is Uncle Lecter coming fishing?”

“Apparently.”

Billy smiled. Uncle Lecter showed up when he wanted to, and it was kind of funny how it annoyed his dad.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m tired.” He did his best to cover a yawn. “How come fishing starts so early?”

“That’s when the fish are feeding,” Dad said.

“Not in the rest of the day?”

“They’re most active at dawn. When there aren’t many predators, so they’re safe.”

Billy frowned, puzzled. “But we’re there, so they aren’t safe from us.”

“Precisely,” a new voice said. Uncle Lecter had woken up, roused by the conversation. “Humans are intelligent predators. We use our prey’s defenses against them. Good morning, Billy.”

“Good morning.” Dad was rolling his eyes, as he often did when Uncle talked like that. Billy wasn’t sure where the exasperation came from. Dad fished way more than Uncle ever did.

“Go back to sleep. Both of you. It’s another hour before we get to the river.”

The car pulled to a stop at a red light. Dad reached into the back seat and spread his big coat over Billy like a blanket. Snuggled into its warmth, he drifted back into a dreamless sleep.


	3. Fishing 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy is an eager knowledge-sponge. Hannibal and Will each help him in their own way.

“Dad?” Billy asked. They were seated on the river bank, just the two of them. Uncle Lecter had gotten bored and wandered off. The sun had come up, and with it the promised fish – in the river if not necessarily on their lines. Billy had felt better when he was able to put his shades on.

“Yeah?” Dad kept his eyes on the water, but he was listening. Billy knew when he was listening.

“Why aren’t you and Mom married?” He knew a few kids whose parents weren’t married, but they usually had been at some point. Or at least they’d dated.

Dad wasn’t bothered by the question. His voice was even, like he’d been expecting it. “We’re not in love with each other.”

“Oh.” Billy thought for a while. “Do you have to be in love to be married?”

“No. But it’s a good idea.”

They sat in silence for a while, the current rushing around their lines. Billy set his rod to stand and got up. “I’m gonna go find Uncle Lecter.”

“Okay. Don’t go far.”

***

He walked up the little trail that led to their fishing spot, murmuring the French names of things as he went. “Fougère. Terre.”

Sometimes Uncle Lecter would tell him the French for things, and he liked the idea of knowing a language other people didn’t. Somewhere nearby, he heard a quiet _thunk_ , and he took the turn that led in its direction.

“Arbre,” he said as he walked. “L’arbre est belle.”

“Oui,” came Uncle’s voice from somewhere hidden, “l’arbre est très belle.”

He pulled aside the brush to see Uncle, and a tree a few feet away with a knife in the trunk.

“Are you throwing knives?”

“It helps to pass the time.” He picked it out of the tree and threw it again, hitting it with a _thunk_.

“Can you show me how?”

Uncle looked at him with that expression that didn’t convey any emotion. “Billy, do you recall what I told you about gentlemanly discretion?”

“Yes.”

“This is a case where discretion is paramount.” Billy nodded his understanding, and Uncle gestured him over and rested a hand on his shoulder, gently placing the knife between his fingers. “Hold it where it’s most balanced. And... flick of the wrist.”

It clanked against the tree, handle first. Uncle Lecter patted Billy’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Your form is sound. The rest will come with practice. But..?”

“Somewhere discreet,” Billy completed.

“That’s right.” He gave him a small smile, and Billy went to get the knife back. This was at least as fun as French.


	4. Mongoose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted some anthro!mongoose!Will, but I can't draw for entrails. So I wrote it instead.
> 
> Will is a fur, of the ears/teeth/tail type, appearing otherwise human. Set in a universe where this is slightly unusual but far from rare. And of course, he still has all his Will problems on top of any furry problems. Hannibal tries to help.
> 
> Contains canon-typical crime scene.

Will felt numb when he reached Hannibal’s office, fresh from a crime scene. Three bodies, a man and two women, cut into strips at the groin and _woven_ together like some kind of grotesque yin yang.

He stood in the waiting room, too anxious to sit. He hopped when the door opened, blushing as he righted himself.

“...sorry.”

Dr. Lecter was nice enough to ignore the startled jump and the apology for it. “Will, please come in.”

He went where Hannibal gestured, looking at the ground.

“Are you comfortable?” Hannibal asked, glancing at his tail.

“Huh? Oh!” Will looked behind himself and saw he was still wearing the tail-wrap from earlier. A sort of long cotton bandage furries wound around their tails to keep from contaminating crime scenes by shedding. He quickly unwound it and looked around for a trash can. Hannibal took it from his hands and discarded it. Without the bandage holding it down, his fur was bristled, making him look bigger than he was. He tried to smooth it, but it just stuck up again.

“You seem troubled.” Dr. Lecter sat in his chair with his usual grace, letting Will pace and scamper as he needed to.

“Yeah. Well, I’ve been somewhere troubling today.”

“A crime scene.”

“A criminal.” He paced the perimeter of the office, poking at the spines of books. “Three people. He cut them into strips, flayed everything soft from their pelvic bones, braided them into one piece, they were still alive. And he thought – I _felt_ that he was loving them.” His voice hitched, and his ears lay flat against his head.

Hannibal nodded, quiet and thoughtful. “Anyone would be troubled by such brutality.”

“There was no brutality!” Will rounded on him, meeting his eyes. “I would never – they were good people! They deserved love. I _gave_ them love! I –” He fell silent when he realized he was speaking in the first person again. His eyes dropped, and he bit down on his lip, needle-sharp mongoose teeth piercing the skin.

Hannibal was at his side, warm, steady hands holding a handkerchief to his lip where he’d made himself bleed. Arms guiding his shaking body to a chair.

Will curled into a sitting position and hugged his tail like a lifeline, held it in front of him like it could block his face from view. Hannibal sat across from him, his voice as gentle as his hands. “Your name is Will Graham,” he said. “It’s 7:10. You’re in Baltimore, Maryland, in my office.”

Will nodded, eyes shut tight. Hannibal’s office. It was safe here. He was safe. Safe from all the monsters he had to be. He let out his breath in a long, ragged sigh. “One of them was just a teenager. I don’t – I don’t want to be someone who mutilates kids.”

“You aren’t.”

“I feel like I am. I know exactly why. And – and it feels like a good reason! It feels so gentle, so kind when I’m in his head, and then when I’m back in mine, I’m disgusted. But I can’t forget that gentleness, that love...”

“It’s frightening to tie the softer emotions to such acts of violence.”

Will nodded and hugged his tail tighter. It was a gesture he eschewed in public. Hard enough to get taken seriously as a furry cop. You had to act like your tail wasn’t there, not use it for a security blanket. But Hannibal had never given the slightest scent of disapproval.

“Are you afraid that it might influence your own actions? Your own expression of emotions?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” He flopped back in the chair. “I’d never – I don’t _think_ I’d ever cut someone’s clitoris off as a sign of affection.” He laughed nervously. Because it wasn’t funny. “But when I’m not careful, I remember how _reasonable_ it seemed, when I was him.”

“How do you show affection, Will?” Hannibal’s voice was as even as ever. Will liked that about him, the understated reactions. Most people’s response to the horrors he described was so strong that he could barely tell his own emotions from theirs. Hannibal’s feelings were quiet; unobtrusive. All he felt from him was gentle curiosity, and the desire to help.

“I don’t know. Show up at people’s doors at night babbling about dismemberment?”

Hannibal smiled, just a little tic of his lips. “You need to establish your own pattern. You venture far, into dark waters. You need a strong beacon to return to.”

Will thought of his house in the distance, lights glowing bright and calm. He thought of boats and lighthouses. “Okay.” His muscles relaxed, just a little, and he let go of his tail. “Okay, you’re right.”

“Think of how you react when you love someone. When you’re angry. When you’re afraid. You will see that you are not the men you study.”

“What if I don’t know how I react?” His voice was quiet and frightened.

“I am here to help you learn.” Hannibal reached across the distance between them and put a hand on his. Will gave him a little smile, shaky, but cautiously optimistic.


	5. Five times someone invades Will's personal space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five times someone invades Will's personal space, and one time someone respects it.
> 
> Written for this prompt on the kinkmeme: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/3819.html?thread=6975211#cmt6975211

He screams when the man touches his shoulder.

It’s not his fault, exactly. He’s a local cop, doesn’t know to leave the spooky FBI kid alone when he’s stock still at a crime scene with his eyes closed. But Will has just felt himself strangle a child, and the unexpected touch feels like an epinephrine shot.

Local Cop holds his hands up, apologizes as he backs away. Will tries to apologize as well, giving a parody of a smile. Cop must think the tears in his eyes are from being startled.

***

It’s pretty normal to get a dressing down from Jack. Will considers it another sign he should be out of the field; the head of his department never yells at him. He’s angry, but it’s normal, until it isn’t. Until Jack is inches from his face, looming above him, backing him against the wall and he’s _close too close oh God, he’s too close_. Will can feel his rage, his ruthless determination, and the last time he felt that from another man in close quarters he got stabbed.

He’s panting before Jack realizes something’s wrong. His vision’s started to darken when Jack finally relents and backs off to ‘let Will collect himself.’

He clings to the wall for support, but he ends up sliding down it anyway.

***

Abigail Hobbs is a survivor. She runs when she has to, fights when she can. And Will wishes for the fiftieth time he could project intimidation better, because apparently she’s decided he’s part of the ‘can.’

It’s a calculated move. He can see that even as he flinches, even as he takes a step back when she takes one forward, advancing on him with cold menace in her eyes. She’s not sure of him, and she wants to know he won’t turn her in. She thinks the only tool she has is fear.

“Abigail.” It takes effort to stand his ground, to keep his hands at his sides instead of raising them in placation. But his voice is calm, steady as he holds his arms open, and she looks up at him in confusion, a crack showing in her monster-mask.

***

“No.” It’s in his face again. He pushes it away, but it comes back, accompanied by the smell of dog breath.

He turns over onto his front, putting the pillow over his head to shield himself. The cold nose keeps poking at him insistently, hitting bare skin where he stripped off his shirt the night before.

“It’s not even kind of breakfast. It’s four. Go back to sleep.”

Lucky prods him again, adding in a whine.

“Ask Winston to feed you.”

***

He was unconscious when it happened, but goddamn if the evidence isn’t plastered over the internet. A gruesome picture of his fresh bullet hole, still oozing lymph. The green sheets from the hospital are visible in the background. She was in his room, while he was sleeping. She pulled back the covers, _undid the bandage_. Will started to shake. It was worse than being seen naked. Lounds had taken an upskirt of the inside of his shoulder!

***

Will meets Hannibal’s eyes again. He’s been doing that a lot lately; it’s starting to be a habit. The brief glimpse before he looks down shows nothing dark, nothing malicious. Only a soft curiosity, a want.

He’s still analyzing it when Hannibal says, “May I kiss you?”

And Will is so cold right now, and Hannibal’s eyes look so warm. And he smells like blood and good cologne, and Will can feel him, as sure as if he were in his head. So he nods, and Hannibal presses their lips together, one hand stroking Will’s cheek gently, mouth sucking soft at his until the tension in his shoulders goes and is replaced by something in his chest.

Will laughs and ducks his head. Hannibal is too confident to ask if the kiss was that bad. When he looks up again, he says, “So a kiss needs permission, but intubation doesn’t?”

Hannibal smiles back at him, if only a little, and kisses him again.


	6. Seminole Ct.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is a jerk. Hannibal is a fugitive. Will is a mess.
> 
> Future fic with a dose of angst.

Jack Crawford checked the address. Seminole Park, Lot 3. The trailer was dingy and weathered, the ground overgrown with weeds. The only sign of human care was that the dogs lounging in the shade of the trailer were clean and well-fed. An aging pit bull approached him, but it only sniffed him curiously and licked his hand when he offered it. He knocked on the door.

A man opened it, but he barely glanced at Jack before fixing a reproachful look on the gray-muzzled pit.

“You’re a terrible guard dog.”

“Hello, Will,” Jack said.

Time had not been kind to Will Graham. His hair was wilder now, his beard more scraggly. His body had been sunburnt and thinned until his arms looked like ropes, course and rough. Even his voice was harsher, the gravelly tone Jack remembered turned to sandpaper, as though from heavy drinking. Or screaming.

“Why are you here, Jack?” Will looked at the ground, avoiding Jack’s eyes.

Jack took a deep breath. “Hannibal Lecter has escaped from custody.”

Will’s shoulders slumped, and he buried his face in his hands. Jack reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder, but he pulled away. It was a long time before he spoke.

“Am I a suspect?” His voice was thin, forced through a too-tight throat.

“No. No, of course not, Will. You’ve proven yourself many times over. We want your help to catch him.”

“No.”

“Will–”

“No!” His voice cracked at the new, desperate pitch.

Jack held out his hands. “You know how he thinks better than anyone. You might be our only chance.”

“I can’t do it!”

“You did it once.”

Jack met Will’s eyes now. They were dark and lined with too little sleep, red with whiskey, but blazing with hatred and clarity. “I had to tear out my own heart to do it once! I can’t do it again.”

“I know you were close—”

Will scoffed.

“—but you know what he’s capable of. He’s too dangerous to leave free. Do you want that on your conscience?”

“My conscience.”

“I imagine you still have one.” Jack’s voice hardened. This was not what he expected from the hero who took down Lecter. Retired and off the grid or no. “The Will Graham I knew had a sense of duty. He sacrificed to help save lives.”

“Would you do it?” Will had stopped screaming now. He was leaning on the door frame for support, his eyes distant.

“What?”

“If it were Bella, would you watch her die again? For conscience’ sake? For duty?”

Fury rushed hot to Jack’s face. It was all he could do to keep from striking him. Will wished he would. “I’ll ignore that because I know you’re upset right now.”

“No!” The bitter growl rose to a shriek again. “You don’t know anything! Because _you_ fell in love with someone _good!_ Now get the fuck out of here, and don’t come back without a warrant!”

The door slammed in Jack’s face. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

The pit bull poked his leg, resting its muzzle on him in sympathy.


	7. Aftershave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Man, I don't even know what I was doing with this one. It just came to me.

“There were a few teeth left, so we’re trying the dental records. No luck so far, but hope springs eternal.” Jimmy was retracting the lip of their latest victim to give his colleagues a look. Bev looked on thoughtfully.

Hannibal came through the door, a picture of quiet grace as usual, until he startled, covering his nose and mouth. “What is that?”

Beverly smiled ruefully at him. A psychiatrist didn’t have to look at desecrated lunch meat like this. Even a surgeon didn’t, really. “It’s pretty rough. Looks like our guy used a hammer.”

“I was referring to the smell.” He was frowning, his mouth still covered. He actually looked paler than usual.

Beverly couldn’t smell anything unusual. She looked at Jimmy and Brian, but they just shrugged. “...dead body?” she ventured.

“Apart from that.”

“Well, what does it smell like?” Jimmy asked, curious if it could be some kind of clue.

Hannibal was rarely at a loss for words, but this description took a moment to formulate. “New plastic and aspartame.” He moved through the morgue, stalking like an animal. He came to rest only a few inches from Will. “It’s you.”

“Hm?” Will spared him only the slightest glance, still focused on the cadaver.

Hannibal sniffed him closely out of a morbid curiosity. “What are you wearing?”

“Oh.” He turned his gaze on Hannibal now, steely and unblinking. “You said you didn’t like my aftershave. I thought I’d try something new.”

 _snf. snf._ “Concentrated diet soda?”

Will looked away indifferently. “It’s called Shimmer Strawberry. From Claire’s.”

“You took exception with my observation?” Hannibal’s voice was toneless and cold.

Will threw up his hands. “There are worse things than Old Spice!” 

“You could at the very least use a fresh bottle,” Hannibal said.

“It’s not milk! It doesn’t go bad!”

“It oxidizes. A great majority of substances do. I am uncertain why your hideous perfume should be an exception.” A spark of heat had crept into his words as the two men began to stare each other down.

“It doesn’t smell any different,” Will said.

“It smells like a drain. As opposed to when it is fresh, when it at least smells like a clean drain.”

“Maybe if you stopped sniffing me!” Will yelled.

Hannibal gagged. Will was bringing his chemical-saturated face dangerously close. “I hardly need to sniff you!”

“Then don’t!”

Their faces were close, their lips drawn back. Hannibal for all his sangfroid looked as though he were about to bite.

“All right, break it up!” Beverly interposed herself between them, pushing them apart bodily. “You two need a time out. Hannibal, go to my office. Will, wash your face, then go to Morgue 3. You can come back in ten minutes.”

“What, because he doesn’t like my—”

“I did not come here to be treated like—”

“Do you want to go for twenty?” Her voice rose over their complaints. She looked between them, matching steel for steel, strength for strength.

Will was the first to look down, but Hannibal followed.

“No, ma’am,” Will said.

“Good. I’ll see you back here in ten minutes.” They were slow to leave, so she gave Will a gentle push toward the door. “Scoot!”

It was a long, boring ten minutes alone in the morgue. Will paced angrily, kicking the ground. _He_ wasn’t the one being unreasonable. No one _else_ had a problem with the stupid perfume.

Eventually Beverly came to get him and asked if he was ready to play nice. He nodded sullenly and followed her back to the other room, where Hannibal was waiting.

“Are you both going to be good?” They did not speak, but did not challenge her either. “Okay. I have some documents I want you to sign.”

She handed them each a pen and a sheet of notepaper. Hannibal’s said, “If I sniff Special Agent Graham, I will not complain about his smell.”

Will’s said, “I will not smell worse on purpose to antagonize Dr. Lecter.” Sulkily, they both signed and dated the sheets, which Beverly then pinned to the corkboard on the wall.

“There. Now, do you have something to say?”

There was a pause, but Hannibal was the first to break it. “I must apologize. I behaved thoughtlessly.”

Will looked at his shoes, hands in his pockets. But he said, “I’m sorry too,” and offered his hand to shake.

“Come on,” Beverly said. “Two men can hug.”

Will was going to protest, but Hannibal drew him into a firm embrace. It must have worked, because he did feel less angry afterwards. He gave Hannibal a shy smile when they broke apart.

“Okay!” Beverly said brightly, moving back to the matter at hand. “We found semen in the nasal cavity, which should turn up a DNA match if he’s a repeat sex offender...”

***

After the group broke gather more information, Will lingered by Hannibal. “Hey. Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“I went along with Katz because I’m easily dominated. Why did you?”

Hannibal watched him for a moment, deciding how much truth to give. “Authoritative Asian women make me feel safe,” he said eventually.

Will addeds that to his slim collection of information on Hannibal’s psyche.

“I actually enjoy your scent, you know.”

“What?”

Hannibal nodded. “It’s mild and soft with a faint sharpness underneath, very pleasant. It seems disconsonant to obscure it with something harsh.”

“Oh.” Will wasn’t sure if he’d been complimented, but in case he had, he didn’t want to be rude. “Thanks.” There was a moment of silence. “That’s... that’s kind of why I took it so personal. I wanted you to like how I smell.”

Hannibal took Will’s hand and gave him a small, quiet smile. “There is little I like more.”


	8. Ageplay AU: No Stabbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short fill for this prompt from the kinkmeme: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/3819.html?thread=7111403#cmt7111403
> 
> I'm putting it with my other ficlets because I don't know what the hell I'm doing with it yet, lol. May add to the story and flesh it out if inspiration strikes.
> 
> Hannibal is in a little headspace, and Bedelia is taking care of him. Hanners is sensitive, sweet, and comparatively innocent, but still tries to stab people with pencils sometimes if they make a false move. #Kids #WhatchaGonnaDo

“Hannibal!”

He struck like a snake, but she moved just as quickly, wrapping his arms around his chest and pinning his hands to his side. He bucked and struggled in her hold, but she pressed behind him, offering the comfort of her body.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” She nodded to the other man, gesturing with her head toward the door. She knew from experience that her little one wouldn’t settle down if he still felt there were a threat in the room.

She strained to keep her footing as he kicked and twisted in her arms. She made a mental note to shop for flats. Ones with good traction. “Okay, Hannibal,” she said. “We’re going to sit down now.”

She moved back toward the wall, something to brace herself on so he wouldn’t overbalance her. “It’s okay.” She kept his arms wrapped around his body, halfway between a hug and a straitjacket. Slowly, she slid down, bringing him with her until they were resting on the floor. “You’re safe. I’m here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” He whimpered, and she hugged him closer.

“That was scary, wasn’t it?”

No response.

“Were you scared for Mommy?”

A nod, and a broken sob.

“No one’s going to hurt Mommy. Jack is a friend. He’s a friend. Mommy’s safe.”

They sat in quiet for a while, broken only by the hitch in Hannibal’s breath.

“Hannibal? I’d like you to put down the pencil. Can you do that?”

He still clutched the pencil tight in his hand. She never knew how much he was taking in, especially during an episode. “No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe. Mommy’s safe. It’s okay to put it down.”

She started to rock with him, gently backward and forward to comfort him. “We’re not going to hurt anyone. You don’t need to. Mommy will keep you safe. I won’t bring you around anyone dangerous.”

He started to shiver, as if suddenly freezing, breath coming shallow and fast. But he did drop the pencil.

“Good. That’s very good, Hannibal.”

The shaking didn’t stop.

“Hannibal? Can you breathe?”

No response.

“I’m going to let go of your arms, but I want you to stay here with me. Can you do that?”

A shaky nod.

Gently, slowly, she released her grip on his hands. Quite apart from bolting from her, he turned and hid his face in her shoulder, clinging to her desperately. She hugged him again, started the rocking. “Good. You’re doing good. It’s okay, Hannibal.” She kissed the top of his head, the disarrayed hair. “We can stay here for a while. Just you and Mommy. It’s okay.”

She took stock of the situation. Hannibal was uninjured, she was uninjured, and the pencil was not embedded in Jack’s neck. She mentally cursed that the regression had left Hannibal with his anatomical knowledge. Speech was gone, emotional regulation was gone, but apparently med school was burned in deep.

She shook off the dark feelings. Hannibal was snuggled in her arms, unharmed and no longer violent. Poor Jack was probably less than pleased, and she couldn’t blame him, but things could have gone a lot worse than they did.

Hannibal was breathing normally again. She checked his pulse. Heart rate still elevated. She rubbed the back of his head. “We’ll just take a minute to settle down and then go home. It’s all right now.” Home was only a twenty minute drive. Which was good, she didn’t want Hannibal away from his familiar space in this state of mind.

Slowly, carefully, she stood, brown eyes looking up at her with concern, as though unconvinced she was uninjured. She gave Hannibal a little smile and took a compact from her pocket. He seemed to relax as she straightened her clothing and hair. He was used to seeing Mommy tidy and well-groomed. It was probably a sign of normalcy to him.

She put the compact away. “Okay, Hannibal. Now you.”

He stood and cautiously approached her. He let her smooth his hair and tug his sweater sleeves back into place.

“There.” She stroked his cheek, glad to feel him press into the touch instead of shy away. “Pick up Dolly, okay? Then we can go home.” _And then a sedative and an early naptime._


	9. Ageplay AU 2: A Peaceful Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> li'l!Hannibal gets some snuggles and generally has a better day than in the last chapter.

Hannibal was quiet that afternoon, possibly still shaken from the incident yesterday. Not that he was ever particularly loud, but he was still now. Cautious. Watchful.

He was settled on the couch reading, Dolly tucked under one arm. Bedelia had dressed him in a light blue sweater and a yellow button-up. She liked to give him his layers, his armor, even if the three piece suits he had favored before would have been out of place. The soft sweater and his un-gelled hair made him look painfully young.

Bedelia walked over to drape a blanket over his shoulders, and he snuggled into her arms. He didn’t seem to like the cold.

She smiled and petted his head. “What are you reading, Hannibal?”

He offered the thick book for her to look at. It was one of her psychology texts, focusing on the effects of early childhood trauma and institutional abuse. She frowned. “I think that’s a little rough for you, honey.” She could only imagine what memories the book was stirring inside him. She found it hard enough to read herself, and she had had as happy a childhood as anyone who ended up a psychiatrist. She went to the shelf and picked up something to exchange for it.

“Here,” she said gently, offering Hannibal the new book. “Maybe you’ll like this better.”

He looked uncertain. He didn’t like restrictions on study, even if they were only to keep him from having panic attacks. But he took the book from her hand and looked it over.

It was a sixteenth century anatomical treatise, the Latin annotated but not translated. And there were _lots_ of pictures. His eyes lit with interest as he examined the pages. Most children (or adults in a child’s headspace) wouldn’t find a man holding his own skin like a doffed jacket particularly calming, but her Hannibal always had to be different.

“Yes. I think that’s better.” She took the psychology text to her study and put it in a desk drawer. Hannibal didn’t mean to be difficult, or at least not for her, but he was as curious as a cat.

She made her way to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of wine. She took a sip and then took a plastic cup from the shelf and filled it with apple juice. Maybe they could spend some time together on the couch.

She screwed on the cup’s lid. It had a flexible spout usually suitable for two to three year olds. Hannibal seemed to find it comforting.

It was difficult to say where his mental age had settled. His skills in literacy, art, and, unfortunately, knife-throwing were undiminished, beyond the capabilities of most adults. But he was unable to use language, regulate his own emotions, or fall asleep by himself. He needed almost constant supervision, not only to keep him from hurting someone, but to keep him from feeling panicked and abandoned. He clung to his rag doll as though to life, and he would sometimes chew fitfully on his hands until a caretaker offered him something more appropriate. He had night terrors and wet the bed.

Bedelia wasn’t particularly concerned by the discrepancies. She doubted her friend had been developmentally typical the first time around. She just said he was five on the paperwork and left it at that.

She walked back to the living room and sat down on the couch, setting her glass on the table in front of them. Hannibal scooted closer to her, nuzzling her shoulder and submitting to her gentle petting. He did seem wound a little less tightly than before.

“Here,” she said, “I brought you some juice.”

She offered him the cup, and he accepted, sucking quietly as he rested against her. She smiled and put her arm around his shoulders.

He offered the book to her.

“Hm? You want me to read to you?”

He regarded her quietly, not withdrawing the book.

“It’s been years since I studied Latin, you know. My accent is atrocious.”

He seemed unmoved.

“All right, Hannibal. Only for you.” She picked up the book and began to read. Her accent really was atrocious. She had studied Classical verse, not Medieval prose. She spoke with hard Cs and trilled Rs, her Vs rounding out to semi-vowels. She gave the work a meter it didn’t possess. Dactyl, spondee, dactyl, spondee. Hannibal rested his head in her lap, suckling at his sippy-cup, as calm and contented as if the words were beautiful.


	10. Louis Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal pulls his 'Louis Friend' anagram stunt, and Will has to deal with it instead of Clarice. This leads to discussion of comic books.

Will stomped down the hall and threw a sheaf of papers on the folding chair in front of Hannibal’s cell. “Anagrams? Really?”

“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal said, calmly asserting polite discourse.

Will paced irritably. “I don’t miss you leaving clues in dead bodies, but this is Batman-level stupid.”

Hannibal frowned in blank incomprehension.

Will stopped moving when he received no response. “Batman? Riddler? ‘Holy wordplay?’”

Hannibal shook his head, more confused than ever.

“Come on. No one’s classy enough that they haven’t at least _heard_ of comic books.” Will finally sat in the chair.

“Soviet state.” Hannibal said. “We had Cheburashka.”

Will let his head hang, worn out from his earlier anger. “Well, you might like it.”

“Indeed?”

“Yeah. It’s about a little kid who sees his parents murdered, learns an improbable collection of skills, and spends his life committing horrific acts of violence in an attempt to make up for their deaths.”

Hannibal was not easily rattled, but he did feel a chill at the words. “Ah.”

“And he wears ridiculous costumes,” Will said.

“I see.”

“And he skulks around at night pissing off the cops, and he has a thing for dark-haired younger men, and—”

“Your point is taken!”

Will smiled to himself. Even if it didn’t get him anywhere, it was good to know Hannibal wasn’t the only one who could needle people.


	11. Ageplay AU 3: Will Babysits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bedelia is called away for a conference, and she thinks Hannibal is ready to spend a night without Mommy.

Hannibal was still silent, but his eyes showed mute terror. He gripped Bedelia’s hand tightly as she stood in the doorway. He had no confidence that she would return.

Bedelia touched his hair gently. “I’ll be back tomorrow, Hannibal. I promise.” She locked eyes with him then, giving her sincere word as a lady. Whether he believed her or not, he was forced to accept it, and he slowly, reluctantly let go of her hand.

“Will will take care of you, and you have my phone number in case anything happens. You’re going to be all right.” She would have stayed home from the conference if she thought Hannibal couldn’t handle it, but between his growing competency at coping with difficult emotions and how much he trusted Will Graham, she believed he would be all right. Still, she had her phone on. She could be back in an hour if she had to be.

Will put an arm around Hannibal and hugged him close. Hannibal wore a red half-zip sweater, soft and snug to help him calm himself. Will rubbed up and down his arm and pressed a kiss to his head.

“Goodbye. Be good.” Bedelia said.

“Goodbye,” Will responded, waving to her.

Hannibal started to shake, struggling to control his breathing. Will closed the door and gathered him into his arms. “Shh.” He held him to his chest, fighting off the wave of empathy that had him feeling Hannibal’s terror. That wasn’t what he needed right now. Instead, he worked on taking slow, deep breaths, setting a rhythm for Hannibal to follow, staving off a panic attack. It took about twenty minutes until the shaking calmed, Hannibal’s breath matching Will’s. Will pulled back to look at his face and wiped away the tears there.

It was still a little disconcerting. He was used to Hannibal being the anchor, the safe point to ground him. Now his friend needed his help, and he was afraid that he wasn’t stable enough to give it. But Bedelia was right, Hannibal seemed to trust him more than anyone else apart from her. He couldn’t imagine this change from routine going as smoothly with anyone else.

“Okay. You’re okay, buddy.” Will could’ve bitten his tongue. Were Hannibal in his right mind, he would’ve found the endearment either confusing or outright insulting. But it was what Will had heard growing up. It was how men addressed children and strange animals. Lacking any experience of his own, he was falling back on what he’d seen.

As it was, Hannibal remained unmoved, clinging to Will’s arm and radiating anxiety.

“You want a bottle?”

Hannibal said nothing, only pulled closer for protection.

“Okay, let’s get you a bottle.” Will shepherded Hannibal into the kitchen and started warming some milk. Hannibal relaxed, even if only a fraction, when Will brought him along instead of leaving him out in the other room. He started rocking, blank eyed, his body still so tense it might snap. Will felt a stab in his heart. They hadn’t been able to figure out what Hannibal’s issue was, but abandonment was clearly part of it. He hadn’t been away from his Mommy more than an hour since he’d regressed, and the stress was pulsing through his body, radiating from his heart.

Will decided that he might need his medicine to get through the first part of this day. He took the tablets Bedelia had given him from his pocket and read the instructions again. He didn’t want to put Hannibal in a coma. He tore one from its foil packet and added it to the milk, where it dissolved readily. He tested the temperature and poured it into a feeding bottle.

He led Hannibal back to the living room and took a seat on the padded rocking chair. “It’s okay, buddy. Why don’t you sit with me for a while?” And he guided Hannibal into his lap, where he curled up with a quiet sound of distress, trying to make himself small as though expecting an attack.

It was an improvement over a few months ago, when his reaction to stress was to pace like a caged panther and attack the first person who touched him.

Will covered him up with a blanket, tucking it around him like a shield. He started to rock them slowly, cradling Hannibal close and shushing him gently. He offered the bottle, and Hannibal latched on gratefully, hands gathering fistfuls of Will’s shirt as he suckled. Will felt a stab in his chest. He’d been this frightened; it was no picnic. To face it with the emotional resources of a child must make it infinitely worse.

He held his friend securely and fed him, nuzzling his head like any mammal with their young. Eventually, Hannibal lost his death-grip on Will’s shirt, mind calming under the influence of the drug.

“That’s right.” He kissed Hannibal’s forehead as his eyes started to drift closed. “Mommy’s coming back. She loves you.”

Hannibal became limp in his arms, too sleepy to hold himself upright and relying on Will. Will held him to his chest, to listen to his heartbeat while he slept. “And I love you too.”


	12. Making Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconciling with a parent isn't easy, and sometimes it has to happen in stages.

Hannibal moved quietly through the forest. It was twilight, and the shadows were starting to blend together. Understandable, if slightly eccentric, to be so far into the woods alone. But perhaps he appreciated the light.

He ran his hands along the rough bark of the trees, stepping lightly over the roots. The time may come when he would need to know these woods very well.

His peace was interrupted when an arrow lodged in his arm.

He screamed, more from surprise than from pain. Another sunk in his shoulder, and he hit the ground, making a smaller target. A third arrow landed in his leg. The tips were barbed, gouging holes in his flesh. His breath came faster as he struggled through the pain. Still on the ground, he turned to face the direction of his attacker, coiling to spring when they came to finish the work.

His hunter’s step was almost as quiet as his own, a small, dark form coming out from between the trees. He was almost salivating, waiting for them to get closer, waiting to taste their throat.

He stayed himself when he made out a familiar, pretty face.

“Abigail?”

She was dressed as a tourist, a college girl backpacking through Europe during the summer break. The sandy brown Italian dirt was all over her face and clothes, masking her scent. Her jaw was tense.

“That’s for the ear,” she said, pointing to the arrow in his arm. “The throat.” The one in his shoulder. “And that,” she pointed to the final arrow, the one that had lamed him, “is for what you did to my head.”

“A pleasure as always. How did you find me?” His voice was only a little strained. The wounds were starting to throb as the first shock wore off, but he fought to control himself.

“You weren’t really hiding, ‘Dr. Faust.’ You like attention too much.” She didn’t look like she was gloating. She was tense, knuckles white around her bow. She didn’t approach any closer.

“And what is your plan now?” His curiosity was genuine. It was far too long since he’d seen her, and he wanted to see how her design had developed.

“Now nothing,” she said. “We’re even.”

She started to withdraw from the grove, moving backwards. She wouldn’t take her eyes off him for a moment.

“As you say.” Hannibal struggled to his feet, clawing at a tree for support. Blood was spreading rapidly through the cloth of his pants. It was a bad sign. “Once this inconvenience is past, may I ask you to coffee? We have much to discuss.”

Abigail clenched her teeth. She drew a deep breath to steady herself. “I’m... not ready for that. But thank you.”

Hannibal nodded graciously, and Abigail continued her retreat.

“I love you,” he said by way of parting.

She sighed. “Yeah. I love you too.”


	13. Mongoose 2: Snake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will is an anthropomorphic mongoose, of the ears/teeth/tail variety. And his new friend Dr. Lecter is such a gentle, refined soul that he can't help but feel protective of him.
> 
> Contains animal death.

It was not a pleasant day in Wolf Trap. The air hung thick and humid after a downpour, and it was baking hot. Still, Hannibal was in a good mood. Will was at his side, and they were headed back to Baltimore to conduct some research on the Boschian triptychs their most recent murderer seemed to draw his inspiration from.

In fact, Will was fairly close at his side, much closer than the distance the skittish mongoose usually maintained from other people. Hannibal wondered if he even noticed the difference. For his part, he took it as a sign of high esteem.

He reached for the car door, but was stopped by a shouted, “Wait!”

Suddenly Will was on all fours in front of him, ears pricked and tail puffed, moving faster than Hannibal had seen before.

He stumbled back, momentarily unbalanced. “Will? What’s the matter?”

There was a hiss and a snarl, another flash of motion, and a sickly _crunch_. Then Will stilled. Hannibal stepped closer, cautiously offering a hand. “Will?”

His friend looked up at him, a giant black snake hanging from his mouth, thoroughly dead. He looked like nothing so much as a cat, presenting its master with a gift of fresh kill.

“It’s a water moccasin.” He spat out the snake into his hand. It was easily three feet long. He still had a smudge of blood on his lips, a stain on his tiny, pointed teeth. Hannibal had to restrain himself from kissing it off of him. “You, uh. You gotta be careful.”

Will stood, his eyes downcast and his posture softened from murderous poise to a kind of embarrassed slouch. Dirty and uncouth in front of the gentle doctor, scrabbling around like an animal. He must have worried about what Hannibal would think.

“I owe you my thanks,” Hannibal said. He took his pocket square to clean Will’s face, checking him for injury with careful hands. “You may have saved my life.”

Will blushed under the attention. “Heh. I guess I could’ve just gotten a shovel. Instead of succumbing to my baser instincts here in front of God and everyone.”

Hannibal smiled. “Instinct persists because it is effective. I am sure God does not begrudge you your instincts any more than I do.”

Will turned away, the close contact finally too much. “Well, we can hope so. I’ll go – I’ll go throw this away.” He gestured toward the house with the dead snake.

“Not at all,” Hannibal said, putting a hand on his arm. “I have not eaten lunch. I believe you have not either?”

Will bristled, assuming it was a mongoose crack, but Hannibal persisted. “It has been some time since I prepared snake, and never one so fresh.”

Will looked up at him, frowning curiously. “You really want to eat it?”

“Why not? It would have destroyed us, and it will sustain us instead. It seems a kind of poetic justice.”

Will smiled at him. Then he smiled more when he saw that Hannibal really meant it. Hannibal committed the picture to memory, Will tousled from a fight, blood on his lips, smiling like the sun itself. He didn’t ever want to forget it.

“Okay.” He chuckled. “Yeah, okay. I haven’t had snake since I left New Orleans.” He let Hannibal guide him to the passenger seat, looking more relaxed.

“I only hope I can compare,” Hannibal said modestly, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car. “Snake is a very lean meat. It requires a delicate touch.”

“I bet your snake is great,” Will said.

Hannibal thought of the predators people kept as pets; how they preened under praise for their skill, how they protected and hunted for their masters. How very soft their fur was, running through one’s fingers. “I do have a recipe for chili sauce I have been waiting to try. This would seem to be an excellent occasion.”

Will caught his gaze, only for a moment. His eyes were full of friendship and pleasure.


	14. When he knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will finally puts the pieces together and discovers a dark and terrible secret.

They were eating breakfast in Will’s kitchen. Dr. Lecter had brought something delicious in a foreign tongue, and the dogs were seated around them at their feet. They were too well-mannered to actually _beg_ , but they weren’t above making their interest known. Not when it came to bacon.

“I won’t have to testify in the Billings case,” Will said. It had been a concern. He never relished speaking in court (all those _eyes_ , all those _questions_ , he always felt like he was the one on trial), but sometimes he was called on as a behavioral expert. “Jack subbed in Alana.”

Dr. Lecter took a bite of meat. “Did he say why?”

Will gestured at himself. He was dark-eyed from insomnia, scruffy and unkempt, wearing his dad’s old Carhartt vest for warmth. “I don’t fit the picture of an expert witness. I’d hurt the prosecution’s credibility.”

Dr. Lecter reached toward his face, and with gentle fingers tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “I would find you perfectly credible.”

Will found himself leaning into the touch. It was strange; he didn’t mind physical contact from the doctor. With most people, a tap on the arm was too much, but from him he didn’t mind his hand on his cheek, his forehead, stroking his hair...

Wait, why was he stroking his hair? That wasn’t a friend thing, not in the U.S., and he was pretty sure not in Eastern Europe either.

No one else tried to touch him like that. Lecter wasn’t generally physically demonstrative. Nurturing instinct? It would come through with Alana, she was his protégé. Consideration of the sexual overtones such affection would have with Alana as opposed to him? Of course, Dr. Lecter was fey enough that it was almost _more_ suspicious that –

“You’re flirting with me.”

Dr. Lecter looked up, surprised but not displeased at the abrupt declaration. “Yes.”

Will had broken the game. Flirtation relied on increasing intimacy under a veil of plausible deniability. He’d read a journal article about it. He ran over their acquaintance in his mind (conversations, soft touches, breakfast), looking for a beginning. “For weeks – since we _met_.”

“I did expect you might notice.” Dr. Lecter continued eating his breakfast, undisturbed.

Will rubbed his eyes. “Because I soak up stray intentions like a sponge, or because you were that obvious?”

“You do not know when someone is attracted to you.” He didn’t like to answer questions. It seemed this was no exception.

“It doesn’t come up much,” Will said.

“That seems unlikely.”

Will shook his head. “Well, you don’t – you don’t _broadcast_ like most people do. It’s easier to miss. And at first I was...” he ducked down. “I was too busy keeping you at a distance to notice.”

“You saw me as a threat.”

“I saw you as Jack’s spy. Or a babysitter.” He remembered their first meeting, the feeling of being under a microscope, Jack’s arrogance, Lecter’s cold-blooded calm.

“And how do you see me now, Will?”

Will felt his breath against his lips. When did he get so close? His expression was so mild, gentle and curious, but his posture was unmistakable, oriented toward Will, head angled down, body language open –

He didn’t wait for Will to answer before he kissed him.


	15. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It turns out I like attention too much to keep my drawerfic in its drawer. Fluffy, cuddly hurt/comfort between teenage Hannibal and his aunt and uncle.

Both of them were light sleepers. Murasaki from years of training; Robertas from having to watch over his shoulder for Murasaki. When the screams started, Robertas woke only a moment after his wife, to find her brandishing a thin knife.

“Agh!” He backed up against the headboard and sighed in familiar exasperation. “Darling, please put that away.”

She blinked, looking around her and taking in the situation. There were no sounds of intruders or a fight. The screams were coming from their young nephew’s room. She slipped her knife back into the drawer of the bedside table, not bothering to apologize. Robertas knew it was only the force of habit.

“It’s only Hannibal,” he said. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Mm. All right.” Murasaki kissed him drowsily before laying back down and falling instantly asleep. Robertas looked on with some envy. That was one skill he hadn’t picked up from her.

He picked up his robe from the back of a chair and wrapped it over his shoulders. Hannibal’s bedroom was just across the hall. He opened the door, careful not to make any startling noises.

The boy was thrashing, his pale skin damp, struggling desperately against sleep paralysis to land a blow on an invisible enemy. He was screaming his sister’s name, shrieking. It was the only word he ever said. Robertas felt his heart clench with guilt.

He turned on the light, hoping that would be enough to wake Hannibal up. He only panicked if someone touched him during a nightmare, no matter how gently.

“Hannibal?” Robertas stood a little ways from the bed. “Hannibal.” He called his name louder, and the boy’s eyes snapped open, locking on him as he scrambled away, almost falling off the bed.

“Shh, shh. It’s just me.” Robertas kept his voice low and calm. “You were having a nightmare, Hannibal. You’re safe.”

Hannibal’s eyes darted around the room, looking for the threat he was so sure was there. He looked awful; pallid skin, light hair wild around his head, and the circles under his eyes made him look like a ghost.

Robertas very slowly sat down on the edge of the bed. “It’s all right now,” he said. “You’re home. Do you remember?” He tried to make eye contact to see how much Hannibal was taking in. It was hard to guess the mental state of someone who couldn’t speak. He held out his arm, offering a space close to him. “I won’t hurt you.”

It was hard to watch how Hannibal flinched when someone approached him after a nightmare. Robertas felt a cold rage in his chest at the thought of what had made him so fearful, but he put it aside. That wasn’t what was needed right now.

Hannibal moved closer cautiously, still watching him for any sudden movements. Robertas held still until he was almost touching, then gently put his arm around his shoulders. “Shh, that’s right.”

Hannibal’s body was slight, too small for his age. He felt like a shivering bird in Robertas’s arms. Like he could break.

“Mischa?” He was hoarse from screaming. Robertas’s heart sank in his chest.

“Mischa isn’t here, little one. I’m sorry.”

Tears were streaming down his face now, the terrified silence giving way to quiet sobs as he clung to his uncle. Robertas pulled him close to his chest, rubbing circles on his back while he cried.

“I know, Hannibal. I know.” He kissed the top of his head and wrapped his body around him like a shield, as if he could physically block out the boy’s memories if he held him tightly enough. They stayed like that for a while, Robertas murmuring softly while Hannibal stained his robe with tears. Eventually, the adrenaline wore off, and Hannibal’s body grew limp. He couldn’t have slept more than a couple hours in the last few days, and the strain was telling. Every time he fell asleep he’d wake up in terror, and most mornings, Robertas would find him staring blankly, wide awake, as if he hadn’t slept at all.

He ran his fingers through Hannibal’s hair. He wasn’t sure how long the child could sustain this.

“Come with me,” he said, guiding Hannibal off the bed. “Come on. It’s all right.” He kept an arm around him as he turned out the light and led him to the other bedroom. “You can sleep with us tonight.”

Hannibal looked at him uncertainly, and Robertas ran a hand through his hair, petting him until he calmed. He turned down the blankets and lifted his nephew into bed. “We’ll stay with you. We’ll protect you.”

He didn’t know that he _could_ protect him. How could he stop a horror that already happened? But he knew that he wanted to.

He climbed into bed beside him and pulled him close, making him lay with his head on his chest, to listen to his heartbeat. “There,” he murmured. “Is that better?”

Hannibal wrapped around him, clinging to his warmth. His exhaustion was palpable, but he struggled against sleep.

Lady Murasaki opened one eye, regarding her bedmates. Then she pressed close to them, pooling in the divot they made in the mattress, filling in the spaces of their bodies. Robertas had always suspected she was more a slow-moving liquid than a collection of muscle and bone. He tucked the blanket around them, keeping the boy snug between his guardians, his head resting in the hollow of Robertas’s shoulder.

It was a long time before Hannibal closed his eyes, but eventually his breathing evened out with the slow rhythm of sleep. Robertas held him protectively. His entire family was in that bed.


	16. Omegaverse Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will's been acting odd. He and Hannibal have a serious talk.

"Rapid mood cycling isn't unusual in periods of stress," Hannibal said mildly.

"I know." Will was pacing the room. "But this is different. I punched Jack Crawford in the _face_.” He grimaced at the memory. “I wasn't myself or anyone I'd let in my head, and I want to know what's going on."

Hannibal moved closer to him and scented him subtly. "Have you experienced any other symptoms?"

"Symptoms? Like what?"

"Nausea, fatigue, tenderness in the breast area..."

Will rounded on him wide-eyed. "I'm not pregnant."

"I am not saying you are. It's merely one of many possibilities."

"I'm not.. do I smell pregnant?"

Hannibal tilted his head. "You smell... different."

"Different how?"

"Sweeter. Less metallic and more of a soft, animal musk."

“Pregnant guys don’t hit people, though.” He waved his hands. “They... they buy blankets and clean things. They nest. I’m not nesting.”

“The response isn’t unknown,” Hannibal said. “Between ten and fifteen percent of omegas experience a rise in cortisol and progesterone during pregnancy, bringing on heightened aggression. It has been linked to genetic factors, but also to dangerous environments.” 

“Dad sees danger and amps up the fight-or-flight response to protect the kid.”

“Precisely.”

Will sighed. “Great. Excessive aggression and smelling like cologne. That's not much to go on." He ran his hands over his face. "I wasn't in heat."

Hannibal stood behind him and pulled him flush to his chest, offering him the shelter of his arms. "No, you weren't."

"I'm Omega phenotype-B. There's a chance I can't even get pregnant."  
Hannibal nodded.

Will pressed closer to him. "What am I gonna do?"

***

“Shit.” Will’s face was pale as the blue line appeared on the test. He sat down, almost collapsing on the chair. “Jesus.”

Hannibal wrapped his arms around him. “Is it really so bad?”

“I’m forty. Unmated. Unstable. I have a job where I’m out of town half the time and in the line of fire the rest. I don’t even have _family_ here. I don’t know anything about—I can’t have a kid!”

Hannibal’s voice was quiet. “You do not need to remain unmated.” He pressed his lips to Will’s neck, moving against the soft skin.

Will pushed him away and stood up to pace again. “My dad hasn’t fired a shotgun for years, Hannibal. I think you’re safe.”

“Coercive use of firearms aside, I would be an excellent mate for you. I can feed you. Protect you.” He glanced, only briefly, at Will’s still-flat belly. “And our young.”

“I don’t appreciate pity, Alpha.”

“I do not believe I am capable of pity.”

Will blinked. “That’s a weird thing to say in a proposal.”

“I mean,” Hannibal said, advancing on him, meeting fire with fire, strength with strength, “that I want you.” He was inches away now, held back only by the anger in Will’s eyes. If he embraced him as he wished to, Will would probably strike him.

“Because you knocked me up.”

“I would mate you sooner for the child’s sake. I wish to mate you at all because you are... absolutely unique.” He took one of Will’s hands and brought it to his lips. Stunned, Will allowed it. “And entrancing. And I could happily spend my life learning your mind, body, and soul.”

Will pulled away, his eyes wide. “That’s... a better proposal.” He laughed. His voice was rough. He leaned back against a wall for support. “So you want me to keep it.”

“I do.”

“And if I don’t?”

Hannibal bit his lip. He wanted Will, wanted their child so much it burned. But he mastered himself. “Then you don’t.”

“And you wouldn’t rather have a mate from the eighty-five percent? Someone who built nurseries instead of decking innocent FBI agents and getting suspended?”

Hannibal smiled, just the his eyes and the edge of his mouth. “I can think of no one I would rather have protecting my young.”

Will nodded. “I’ll think about it.” He ran a hand through his hair, the tension in his body replaced by exhaustion. “I’m warning you, though. If I keep it, I’m naming it Elvis.”

Hannibal winced. “And for a girl?”

“Also Elvis.” Will nodded firmly. “That’s what you get for knocking up a redneck.”

Hannibal stared at him, bemused. “Remarkable creature,” he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think of Will as a redneck. I don't think he thinks of himself that way either, but I do think he'd say he was to needle Hannibal.


	17. Clannibal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short ficlet for anon on tumblr who asked for Hannibal letting Clarice be his Mommy.
> 
> I should admit it's been ages since I've seen the movie, so I'm mostly going off of Hanners' NBC character.

“Motherhood is a rich vein of symbolism,” Hannibal said. “It’s almost tempting to over-analyze an attraction to it.”

“Honey.” Clarice stood in front of him, one hand on her hip.

“Mother goddesses are some of the most primal objects of worship in human culture, powerful creators and unpredictable destroyers who hold the balance of life and death in their hands.” He looked her over, considering her carefully. “The river and the tempest; the womb and the gun.”

“Sweetie.”

“Christian iconography has stripped the mother of most of her destructive aspect. Mary is the essence of mildness, a font of ever-flowing love perpetually primed to forgive. Still, the imagery of a flaming heart searing through the chest –” 

“Hannibal.” She put a hand on his shoulder, and he quieted. “Stop talking in riddles and brush your teeth. It’s almost bedtime. If you’re good, I’ll read you a story first. Okay?”

He met her eyes, revealing his anxiety for a moment. He didn’t give up control easily, and words were his favorite weapon. But he nodded and left to get ready for bed.

“Good boy,” Clarice said, ruffling his hair. She rolled her eyes after he left the room, silently wondering how his real mom had managed.


	18. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For anon on tumblr who wanted: "Clarice gets hannibal to understand what his aunt did to him was not 'unorthodox' but inappropriate, illegal, dangerous, manipulative, cruel and abusive"
> 
> Set in some mashup of the show verse and the movies.

“It’s okay to admit you were abused.” Clarice’s voice was unusually soft. 

Hannibal spoke with his usual glib unconcern, as though faintly amused by the turn the conversation had taken. “I was abused, Clarice. Extensively. Until Aunt Murasaki took me in and cared for me.”

“Hannibal.” Clarice looked in his eyes, searching for some understanding. “She molested you.”

“A kiss is hardly molestation.”

“It was more than a kiss.”

“Barely.” Hannibal smiled and shook his head. “She was upset. She was alone in a stressful time, and I resemble my uncle. It isn’t hard to see how the circumstances could lead to something unusual.”

“I’ve been upset too, I’ve never Frenched my son.”

“You don’t have a son. Unless you’ve omitted something critical from our discussions.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Perhaps I am mistaken in what the subject is.” The amusement was gone. “Please enlighten me.”

“The subject is…” She took his hands in hers. “You were hurt. You _are_ hurt. And you won’t even see it, and I worry about you.”

He reached up to stroke her face, touched by her compassion. “Dear little Starling. You must understand, I never suffered from her actions. She saved my life. I would have done anything for her, gladly.” 

“Of course you would,” Clarice said. “You were a child. She saved your life.”

He sighed. “Clarice, no one intends for these things to happen. Perhaps the situation was less than ideal, but she never harmed me.”

“Hannibal…” She looked at him, frowning. He was impossibly stubborn, and a gifted rhetorician. And in the rare cases where he loved someone unreservedly, he was dogged in their defense. She knew that as well as anyone. But she could see the slight waver near his eye. The tiny expression that was the only indication of distress that made it through his person-suit. “What would you do if someone did that to me? A relative, when I was sixteen? If they touched me like that, groomed me for it?”

His lip wavered for a moment. “The situations are – are hardly comparable.” She took his hand again. “You were a young girl. I was…”

“Would you have done it? With Abigail? If you were upset, and she looked like Will?”

Tears splashed from his eyes, and he turned away. Clarice gathered him into her arms. He felt so stiff, still except for his quiet, shallow breathing.


	19. New Puppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon on tumblr prompted: "Chilly willy. Chilton wears a collar and is trained I obey like a dog with the same techniques"
> 
> I think Freddy-pup would be anxious in his new place, so Will gives lots of encouragement and keeps him close so he doesn't get into trouble.

The other dogs were outside, romping through the fields around Will’s house. Will had told Frederick that he was a ‘special puppy,’ who needed ‘extra attention,’ and they could socialize him with the rest of the pack once he’d had a chance to settle in. 

Frederick had blushed at the words, but he had obeyed his master. He had let Will strip him and wash him in the basin outside. He had never been so grateful to be in the middle of nowhere before; he would have died of embarrassment if Will had had neighbors to see him in that state.

Will had rubbed him down with baby shampoo, the mild kind he used on all his dogs. He’d gently, thoroughly shaved all his body hair, murmuring reassurance the whole time and stroking his back when he fidgeted.

His tail hung from a string around his hips and thighs. Will had eschewed the plug variant of a tail. Real dogs didn’t suddenly lose their tails when someone wanted to breed them, and little Freddy wouldn’t either. It was fluffy and brown, the color of his hair. Naked, be-tailed, and smelling of baby shampoo, Frederick had been ready to begin his new life.

“Here we go, buddy,” Will said, fastening the sturdy nylon collar around his neck and testing to make sure it wasn’t too tight. “You’re going to spend the day with me until you settle down a little. That sounds good, huh? That sounds good!”

He spoke in the excited voice that made dogs pleased about whatever was going on. Freddy obediently, shyly wagged his tail.

“Good boy!” Will said, rubbing his face and kissing his head. He took a leash from where it was resting on the deck and clipped it onto Freddy’s collar. He held it short, giving him only a foot or so of slack. Apparently, Freddy was to stay at Master’s heel.

“With me,” Will said as he led him into the house. Freddy crawled along on hands and knees. His cock was achingly hard.

“You can look around,” Will said, still in that soft baby-voice. “It’s okay, boy.”

Freddy looked. It was just Will’s living room. He’d seen it before. But… blushing furiously, he sniffed at the couch and the dog beds in front of the fireplace.

“Yeah, that’s your brothers and sisters. That smells pretty interesting, huh?”

Freddy pressed his head to Master’s thigh and received head rubs.

“You’re a friendly one, huh?”

He leaned up to lick Will’s hand submissively.

Will chuckled. “I love you too, buddy. Okay, sit.”

Freddy sat on his haunches.

“Down.”

He lay down like a dog, arms out in front of him.

“Good boy!” Will cooed, rewarding him with touch and affection. “You’re so smart. You’re going to stay here with me while you get used to things. Just relax, buddy.” He sat on the couch, leaving Freddy laying at his feet. He petted his head with long, soothing strokes. “This is your home now,” he said softly. “I’ll take care of you.”

Freddy pressed his head into Will’s hand, painfully grateful for the comfort of his touch.


	20. Everyone is Terrible Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fargosis brought up the idea of a terrible parent contest judged by Will Graham. Hannibal is Lady Murasaki's staunchest defender, but also the best evidence against her.

“And where is your mother?” Hannibal asked.

Will scuffed the floor with his shoe. “...she couldn’t come.”

“I’m shocked.”

“Whatever,” Will said, casting a look at the smarmy ninja in the front row. “Abandonment isn’t murder-flavored incest cuddles.”

“That is a gross oversimplification.”

“All right,” Will said. “Tell me your version of events. Whose fault is it?”

“Whose fault is what?”

Will scoffed. “Your taste in fashion. The serial murders, knife-boy, what do you think?”

Hannibal took the insult with unfeigned calm. Anyone other than Will would have been in serious danger, but he always found his friend’s way with words more fascinating than offensive. “Everyone must be accountable for their own actions.”

“Very noble of you. And the underlying pathology? Where do we lay that?”

“Lack of oversight in the Soviet government.”

Will stopped short. “What?”

“Inadequate supervision in processing the children of dissidents in outlying puppet states of the Soviet Union. The phenomenon was well documented, and it led to many practices that were not...” Hannibal searched for a word.

“Advisable?”

“Forgivable. It was a deep, systemic problem that had nothing to do with my aunt.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I am not impossible; you’re simply wrong.”

Will looked at the program. “Ugh. Well it’s our turn now, anyway.”

He stood on the dais next to Hannibal and rubbed his eyes, fending off a headache. “...god, I tried to protect her,” he testified.

“I may have an issue with control,” said Hannibal, facing the court. “Which I am working to manage, and which is not Lady Murasaki’s fault.”

Will took a bottle from his pocket and swallowed a handful of aspirin. It was going to be a long day.


	21. stabby stabby feels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanni has feels. Hanni works through his feels with murder. I'm not sure if this is real or in his or Will's imagination, but it's gross either way.

Hannibal was oncoming thunder, swinging at the stranger wildly with fist and knife. His lack of control would have got him killed if it weren’t for his sheer power and speed.

“Is this a Ripper murder?” Will asked. “Is this your design?”

“No!” Hannibal screamed. “I’m  ** _controlled_**  and  ** _dispassionate!_** ”

He slashed the man’s throat. His belly. His chest.

“The satisfaction is  ** _aesthetic_** ,” a hand on the struggling form, “and **_intellectu_ _al!_** I bide! I wait! I  ** _master_**  my impulses!”

He tore frantically through the bone, searching. “I’m not an animal who kills for release just because… just because…” 

He had the warm, wet heart in his hand, and he dropped it as he fell to his knees. “I want my sister.”

He sobbed on the dead man, hands fisted in the gore, holding on like he might fall. His tears mixed with the stranger’s blood.

Will knelt behind him. “I know.” He gathered his bloody, sobbing body up into his arms and rocked with him. “I know.”


	22. Omegaverse Thing 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal break the happy news to Jack, with all the dignity and consideration typical of them.

“Will, I’m glad I caught you,” Jack said as he walked into the empty classroom. “And Dr. Lecter, what a—you’re bleeding.”

They both had wounds on their necks: Will’s a bite mark, Hannibal’s a four-clawed scratch. Will looked embarrassed, but Hannibal had the kind of hormone-soaked smile usually seen in secondary schools. Jack raised an eyebrow. He wouldn’t have pegged Hannibal for the type of alpha to wear a mating scar.

He sighed. Alpha/omega relationships had always seemed a little dramatic to him. He and Bella had been mated in a beautiful, _private_ ceremony, a very spiritual experience. And no one had shed any blood. But when two thirds of the population had a quirk like that, the other third just had to live with it.

“Should I have personnel update your files?” he asked.

Will put his head in his hand, resisting Hannibal’s attempts to pull him back into his arms away from the intruder. “Yeah. It’s—we’re official. I’m keeping my name,” he added.

Hannibal mumbled something, and Will’s face colored.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, “What was that?”

“You’ll need to apply for paternity leave.”

Jack’s eyes widened. It wasn’t surprising to learn that the two of them were together, but that Will was having a baby... it seemed his picture of Will’s mind was incomplete. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Will was looking anywhere but at Jack’s face. Hannibal held him from behind, rocking him slowly, attuned to his mate’s distress. “Yeah, I’ll... I’ll file the papers Monday. There’s plenty of time.”

“I should’ve guessed when you slugged me last week.” His jaw ached at the memory. “Pre-natal defensive response.”

“Does everyone know about that but me?”

“Look, I came to give you Zeller’s report on the autopsy. I was hoping you could make something of it, so—” He took a step forward to hand the file to Will, but Hannibal held him closer, dazed eyes turning sharp. Of course. If the omega thought he was a threat, the alpha wouldn’t let him near them. Not that he had anything to fear from the gentle doctor, but as the beta, it fell to him to be the rational one. “—I’ll leave it right here.” He set it on the desk, a good ten feet away from the mated pair.

“Thanks, Jack. I’ll look it over,” Will said. He finally gave in to the comfort of Hannibal’s arms, tucking his face against his chest for protection. Whether from the gruesome thoughts in the file or from Jack, it wasn’t clear.

“No hurry,” said Jack as he turned to leave. He’d kept Will on so far by appealing to his desire to protect the innocent, but protecting abstract strangers wouldn’t carry much weight against his own child. Will was as good as out of commission for the rest of the year. He’d give a copy of the file to Alana, maybe she could help fill in.

“And, gentlemen. Mazel tov.”

“Todah,” Hannibal murmured around a mouthful of Will’s hair.

“Showoff,” Will said into Hannibal’s shirt.

Jack sighed. He’d spent enough time in the field to know that mammals were mammals, that even educated men and women were cousins to alley cats and middle school poetry-writers, but somehow it always surprised him. He let the door close behind him and shook his head, leaving Dr. Lecter to lick Will’s bite mark clean in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure how well this came through, but my idea of mating marks is that the alpha bites the omega and marks them as theirs, which is standard. Some but not all omegas scratch the alpha to mark them in return. For some people it's a political statement, a matter of equality. For others, it's more instinctive.
> 
> I don't think Hannibal sees himself as the type of alpha to wear a mark, necessarily. It's just that his beautiful, perfect mate is the type of omega to give one.


	23. Swiggity swinja, pegged by a ninja

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little stream of consciousness porn. An offhand line in Rising made me think Lady Murasaki is a service top, so I ran with that. Robertas is a sensitive darling.

Murasaki liked to fuck Robertas because he cracked like glass under her hands. She went in slow with the rubber cock, just rocking in and out, and he was moaning, bucking underneath her, but she held him down and made him take it, telling him how good he looked, kissing the sweat from his neck.

She liked to fuck him until he cried, head back and teeth bared, making sounds like in some desperate dream. Liked it when he begged her, Sheba please, and she barely broke a sweat thrusting into him slow. She knew he wanted it rough. She knew he wanted to be bitten and claimed, but she wanted to bring him over the edge whether he wanted it or not. She wanted to see him helpless. She shushed him as she toyed with his nipple, pinching it gently between her fingers, just a little pain but not enough. Shh, easy now. I’ve got you, as if she weren’t the one working him up, as if she didn’t love the hitch of his breath when he panted, the needy spread of his legs. And she took his cock in her hand, both hands pinned above his head, and stroked him, just so gentle, not too tight.

And he’d been such a stoic when she met him she’d thought he had no heart at all. And if she’d known what was under that she could have eaten him alive. But now here he was before her, trusting her, letting her fuck his naked body, letting her lick his tears, showing her that exquisite sensitivity he tried to hide with stone and ice. He let out a sob when he came, and she held him with his head on her shoulder, with her hair spilling over him, and rolled him onto his front, entering him from behind, calling him her pretty baby as she rocked her clit on the base of the strapon, as she rode him out with her hands on his hips while he bit the pillow. He was so good, so good, but she liked to see him break.


End file.
